“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Markham greeted. “Allow me to add my welcome to the others. It’s always a pleasure to me to meet a No’therner; I fought against ’em, sir, and the more I fought ’em the more I liked ’em, sir. Yes, Mr. No’th, by doggie, sir!” He drew forth a plug of tobacco and offered it with a courteous inclination of the cone-crowned sombrero that covered his weather-stained face. John declined with equal politeness, and Markham set two rows of strong white teeth into the plug. “A pow’ful mean habit, sir. I respect yo’ decision, sir; by doggie, sir!” He spat politely and drew a lean brown hand over his mustache. “Where yo’ goin’, Phil?” “We started out to call on you. Where are you going?” “I was on my way to see you and pay my respects to yo’ friend.” “Well, can’t you come back to supper with us?” “Thank you, not to-night. I shall be pleased to come over to-morrow night.” “That’s fine,” answered Phillip. “I want to have a good talk with you.” “If yo’-all have no special place in mind,” said Markham, “why not ride over to Cupples’s with me? I want to see about some hay they’ve got for sale. We’re not goin’ to have enough to last, I reckon, and I want to buy before the price goes up. They’re askin’ nine and a half in Melville now.” “All right,” Phillip replied; “one place is as good as another to us. I reckon we can get back by supper time if we cut through the woods.” John let the others ride ahead, since the narrow road would not allow of three abreast, and trotted along behind on Ruby, filling his lungs with the moist, frosty air of evening and watching the darkening panorama of hill and field and woodland. The leather felt good between his thighs, the road was firm and springy, and Ruby was a horse in a hundred, having a long, easy trot that carried her along with seemingly no effort. They went through innumerable gates which Markham either opened from the saddle or dismounted and let down, and Winchester fidgeted and reared at each succeeding one as though he had never seen its like. When they reached the little hill farm that was their destination the lights were aglow in the house and the haystack was scarcely more than a blur of black in the purple-gray twilight. But Markham pulled out tufts here and there and nibbled it knowingly, and Phillip followed suit, while John kept his seat and held the restive Winchester. Maid and the beagle, whose name was Tubby, had accompanied them, and were now growlingly renewing acquaintances with the resident dogs. Markham threw the reins back over his horse’s head and climbed into the saddle. “Good hay, Phil, that,” he said. “A bit dusty, maybe, but all right if the price suits. How much do you reckon there is there?” “It’s hard to see,” answered Phillip, “but I should say about eight tons.”